bud is the skin my rouge
swell of flower /flesh
busy with becoming rayed
her hand on my cheek
is a touch of water to leaf
announcing, pulling, slowly
the sky /river of her face & me
open lips part the atmosphere of far /away
&, she says, “lovely,” i am
“beautiful,” i am
in her mouth-touch, i am
resuscitated light :/: the ash of our sound
sweet open caramelized moan
my flowermouth
nascent & petal-nothing
i go the way of an infant /star
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